There Is No Such Thing As Perfection
by Moonlight Phoenix1
Summary: What if there's more to being Lucius Malfoy's son than you first thought?
1. Prologue

A/N: Hello everyone! I have changed this just a titchy bit, because I'm actually making it into a proper story! It started off as a poem-ficlet thing, but now I'm turning it into a full-blown short story. Probably. I'm not sure how many chapters it's going to but, please, remember to review.  
  
Disclaimer: This is the only one in the story, so don't expect me to write anymore. I own NOTHING. Apart from the plot. All characters, names and things (apart from a few spells that I may invent myself) belong to the simply marvellous JK Rowlinng. :::HinthintDON'TSUEhinthint:::  
  
~~~~~~~~ There Is No Such Thing As Perfection ~~~~~~~~  
  
Prologue  
  
I look at myself in the mirror  
  
I know I shouldn't  
  
I know that all I'll see is him  
  
But I do  
  
I peer into dull grey eyes  
  
So cold and uncaring  
  
Fair-blonde manky hair  
  
So white it's almost like a halo  
  
Awful cheekbones  
  
Too thin, too high  
  
But the eyes . . . those eyes  
  
I hate him  
  
I hate my father  
  
And I am exactly like him  
  
Cold, cruel, uncaring  
  
Me and him are one and the same  
  
Only I'm worse  
  
I hate him  
  
I hate myself  
  
I hate myself so much it hurts  
  
Because I grew up to be almost everything he is  
  
That's just what he wanted  
  
But is it enough?  
  
No  
  
Satisfactory, maybe  
  
But never enough  
  
It's all I can do not to murder him  
  
Every time he tells me . . .  
  
"Tuck your shirt in,  
  
Stand up straight  
  
Mind your manners, boy  
  
Don't speak to me in that insolent tone  
  
You need to lose weight, boy  
  
You look worse and worse everyday  
  
Draco, what's the matter with you?  
  
Why can't you be perfect?  
  
Why?  
  
I was, when I was your age  
  
Why can't you be perfect?"  
  
Well, daddy  
  
Although I'm not good on the outside  
  
I can be good on the inside  
  
I can  
  
If you'd just let me  
  
But you can't be good both inside and out  
  
Some people can  
  
But not me  
  
Because, in your opinion of me  
  
There is no such thing as perfection  
  
I will never be perfect  
  
And I never was  
  
Remember . . .  
  
There is no such thing as perfection 


	2. Training

A/N: OK, now, just to warn you, this chapter (and the chap after that, and the one after that . . .) has a bit of Draco-angst (my fave), or, Draco- bashing, as I'd like to call it. I hope that you like it! I've gotta go back to school tomorrow. *wails* Mehr! I don't wanna! Since I had a LOT of free time on my hands today, I wrote the first three chapters to the story. *beams* I'm so proud of myself! Ahem. Anyway, if you read this and like this, then please review!!! Constructive criticism is also appreciated.  
  
~~~~~~~~ There Is No Such Thing As Perfection ~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter 1 - Training  
  
It was quiet at the dinner table in the Malfoy Manor. It always was. There was a sort of tense atmosphere in the dining room, as there had been almost every day since Draco Malfoy's return from his fourth year at Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy, his wife, and his son sat at the long table with silver cutlery, eating without a sound.  
  
Well, Narcissa and Lucius were eating. Draco was just picking at his food. The food was much better at Hogwarts, he had to admit. Currently there was something that resembled fish, spinach and shit on his plate. It was something posh from Italy. The very best cuisine, of course. Malfoys always had to have - and be - the best.  
  
When Lucius finished eating, and saw that Draco was done (well, he'd stopped picking at his food with an expression of disdain on his face and was currently just sitting there) he stood up.  
  
"Come, Draco. It's time for your training, son," he said.  
  
Draco nodded curtly, stood up just like his father did, and followed him out of the room, leaving Narcissa sitting there alone as always.  
  
Draco couldn't help but worry about his mother sometimes. Before he went to Hogwarts, she had been bright and bubbly, always happy, and treated Draco like the most precious thing on earth. Well, she still treated Draco like the most precious thing on earth, but otherwise, she was quiet, withdrawn, and --very-- unhappy. Draco had tried asking her what was the matter a couple of times. All he got in response was his mother scooping him in her arms, like she did when he was a little boy, and telling him she loved him.  
  
Eventually, Draco and his father got to the dungeons.  
  
"Take off your robes before you go in, boy. I don't want them getting dirty," Lucius commanded. Draco nodded again (he hardly even spoke to his father this summer) and took his black robes off, underneath which he had on a grey muggle vest and muggle tracksuit bottoms.  
  
Lucius eyed his son's clothes in disdain, taking off his own black robes, leaving him in smart black wizard's clothing (meaning a black pair of trousers and a black shirt). Draco opened the door to the dungeons, and held it open for his father to go through. He followed afterwards.  
  
"You know that the Dark Lord came back at the end of your most recent year at Hogwarts," Lucius stated more than asked.  
  
"Y-yes, sir," Draco said quietly, wondering where this was going.  
  
Without warning, Lucius punched his son on the face, making Draco's head fling backwards, but he quickly brought it forwards again.  
  
"Don't get distracted, boy," Lucius said, frowning.  
  
Draco nodded. He could feel a bruise rapidly forming on his cheek.  
  
"Anyway, as I was saying, the Dark Lord has come back," Lucius said again. Draco nodded in response - that's all he seemed to do, really, listen and nod. "I bet that you've been wondering what all this training is for, for a while now," Lucius said. Draco nodded again, frowning slightly.  
  
It was true - he'd been training ever since he was eleven. Every summer, every Christmas, every single holiday that he'd come to the Manor from Hogwarts, he'd be training two times a week, if not more.  
  
***FLAHSBACK***  
  
#Two weeks before Draco's first year at Hogwarts#  
  
"Draco, son, would you come down to the dungeons with me?" Lucius suddenly said one evening, while the Malfoy family were having dinner.  
  
At these words Narcissa spat out her drink and stared at her husband with wide eyes. Draco felt confused and a little bit worried - what could have made his mother do that? She was usually so composed. Surely going down to the dungeons with his father wasn't such a bad thing?  
  
"Lucius, you . . . you can't be serious! You don't really expect our son to- " the blonde woman started speaking, but Lucius stopped her with a quelling look.  
  
"Come, Draco," the man said, standing up.  
  
"Um . . . yes, Father," Draco said, looking confused.  
  
As Draco started following his father out of the room, Narcissa suddenly dropped her knife and fork down with a clang, jumped up, and took a few quick strides to where Lucius was.  
  
"No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I won't let you-" she started, but her husband interrupted her.  
  
"Shut up, woman! It's for his own good!" Lucius snapped, starting to walk out of the room. He stopped when he noticed that Draco wasn't following him. He looked back to see his son looking at his mother's distraught face in confusion - what was for his own good? Why was she so sad? She was usually really cheerful.  
  
Lucius marched up to his son, tapped him on the shoulder, and suddenly delivered a swift punch to the small boy's face.  
  
Draco's head snapped backwards, but he quickly looked up at his father, shock written all over his face, lip bleeding.  
  
Lucius grinned in a somewhat feral manner.  
  
"Well, hurry up, boy!" he said.  
  
Draco wordlessly followed his father downstairs to the dungeons, vaguely acknowledging his mother's tear-filled eyes as she stared at her son and husband with worry.  
  
Down in the dungeons, as soon as they walked in through the door, Lucius punched the frail boy again, making him fall down.  
  
"Don't be so weak, boy. Get up. Get up and face me like a man," he commanded.  
  
Draco didn't get up, too frightened to move. Lucius gave his son a sharp kick to the stomach.  
  
"Go on, Draco. Fight back. Be a man. Be a man and --hit-- me!" Lucius commanded again.  
  
Draco got up slowly, mind still reeling from the fact that his father had actually --hit-- him. He shook his head, looking at the ground; too afraid of looking his father in the eye.  
  
"I . . . I c-can't, F-F-Father," Draco stuttered.  
  
"Don't be a pussy, Draco. Come on, hit me!" Lucius yelled.  
  
Draco made a weak attempt at punching his father in the stomach. Lucius glared at his only son, kicked him on the shin roughly, causing the pale boy to drop to the ground again, and paused thoughtfully.  
  
"We will train every week."  
  
***END FLASHBACK***  
  
Draco saw his father's fist firing towards him and dodged it, but got a kick in the stomach instead. Draco instantly covered his stomach with his hands, trying to catch his breath - the punch had left him feeling quite winded, which was quite unusual, since he'd never felt winded just because of one punch to the stomach before.  
  
Lucius frowned at his son holding his stomach and breathing deeply.  
  
"Straighten up, boy. Have you forgotten --all-- the manners I have taught you? No need to --act-- bad as well as --look-- bad," Lucius sneered at his son, who was rather small for his age.  
  
Draco straightened, still breathing heavily. Lucius rolled his eyes and took his wand out of his pocket.  
  
"Crucio," he said.  
  
Draco dropped to the floor, biting his lip, an expression of agony on his face.  
  
"Remember, son . . . Don't. Scream." Lucius said.  
  
But Draco still couldn't stop a few whimpers from coming out - the pain was so intense, he felt like he was going to black out at any second. It was like the pain of all his training, from first year to fourth year, all put together and multiplied by ten.  
  
Lucius scowled at his son wincing. A Malfoy was --not-- supposed to show emotions. Especially if he was in pain. After a few more minutes, Lucius took the curse off his son, who was on the floor, breathing heavily, and struggling to keep conscious.  
  
Each time his father used the Cruciatus curse on him . . . each time he always fell unconscious when it was taken off, or while he was still under it . . . but not this time, Draco decided. No, it's time to be a real man, and not faint after just a few minutes after one little curse. Draco forced himself to get up slowly, and not give in to the urge to either faint, or throw up.  
  
"I have arranged for you to meet our Master in one month's time," Lucius said, as if he was just talking about the weather.  
  
Draco stood there, paralysed with shock. 'Meet our --Master--'? But he had no intentions of doing so. He didn't want to become a Death Eater. He didn't want to kiss Voldemort's arse just like his father. He didn't want to-  
  
The fair-blonde haired boy fell to the ground after receiving a roundhouse kick to the head: he had been distracted --again--.  
  
Lucius looked down at his son in disdain. He observed the blood leaking down from a cut on his cheek and sighed.  
  
"We've got a --long-- way to go. Crucio." Lucius said lazily.  
  
~ TBC ~ 


	3. Truth' Hurts

A/N: Hiya! Aw, thanks for those reviews! Here's the next chappie (up so soon, oh I'm so proud of myself)! Oh, and, by the way, // means thoughts. Reviews and constructive criticism will be appreciated, and flames will either be used to warm the Slytherin Common Room (it's way too cold down there) or shatted on. And, in case you didn't know, shatted is the plural of shit. *grins*  
  
~~~~~~~~ There Is No Such Thing As Perfection ~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter 2 - 'Truth' Hurts  
  
The next couple of weeks for Draco were a blur of punches, kicks, curses, blood, his father's disappointment, and pain. Oh yes, pain, pain and more pain. But after three weeks of training every single day, Draco had got used to it.  
  
It was actually a surprise that he had managed to finish his homework six weeks before school started again.  
  
One fine evening when the Malfoys were having dinner in tense silence, Lucius interrupted it by suddenly saying, "Draco, you need to lose weight."  
  
Draco almost dropped his fork, and looked up at his father, eyes wide.  
  
"You're a bit, well, --very-- fat, Draco," Lucius said lazily. He saw the hurt in his son's eyes. "The truth hurts, boy, live with it," the man said simply.  
  
Draco was still staring at his father, his eyes incredibly wide.  
  
//Fat? What does he mean . . . 'fat'? Am I fat? Am I?//  
  
To a muggle, or a wizard, even, if they had heard what Lucius Malfoy said, they would have called him mad. To a normal person, Draco wouldn't seem fat, ever. Not even a little bit. In fact, the boy was rather small and thin for his age. He had muscles, of course (who wouldn't, after sparring for three weeks straight?), but he was also more skinny than lean.  
  
But now, he was believing every single thing his father said.  
  
It was his father: and his father was always right, wasn't he? He knew what was best for Draco, didn't he? And if he said that Draco was fat, that meant that . . . Draco was . . . fat.  
  
"How can you say that, Lucius? My baby is --not-- fat!" Narcissa proclaimed, seeing how hurt Lucius's comments were making Draco feel.  
  
"Oh, stop defending him, Narcissa. Lying to our only son will only make him --weaker--. Fat means imperfection: and Malfoys are never less than perfect," Lucius said lazily, aware that each comment he made about Draco being 'fat' stung the boy more and more.  
  
"I'm not hungry anymore," Draco said quietly, and got up and left the table, leaving Narcissa staring after him with worriedly, and Lucius grinning that feral grin he always seemed to have when Draco was hurt.  
  
Draco ran up the stairs, not caring that he'd be punished because he left the dinner table in such a rude manner, turned left, then right, then right again, and ran into his room and flopped down on the bed.  
  
He was --fat--!  
  
How could he not have realised it?  
  
Draco quickly threw his robes and his muggle shirt and jeans off, leaving him in his boxers, and stood in front of his full-length mirror, staring at his body.  
  
He turned sideways and looked at his stomach.  
  
How could he not have noticed this before? He --was-- fat! His father was right!  
  
//Shit . . . I don't blame him for telling me! If he hadn't, I probably would have got even fatter, and disappointed him more! He's disappointed, I --know-- he is. I hate it when he's disappointed.//  
  
Draco took a closer look at himself in the mirror.  
  
//Fat . . . fat . . . there's fat everywhere! My arms are fat, my legs are fat, my stomach is fat . . .//  
  
Draco's eyes dropped to the ground; he was unable to look at himself any longer.  
  
He turned his back to the mirror, and started scanning the names of the books on his bookshelves, trying to find something about dieting or . . .  
  
Draco's eyes widened suddenly as he thought of something. But could he . . . was he brave enough to . . . he'd never done it before, but . . .  
  
//Father wants me to lose weight. So I will. I will. I'll get thinner, I'll stop eating so much, especially at Hogwarts, because then he won't be able to remind me about how fat I am, and I might just forget and have a bit too much food . . .//  
  
Without a second thought, Draco ran into the bathroom that was connected to his room, and stopped in front of the toilet.  
  
Slowly, he put the toilet seat up.  
  
Was he really able to do this? Just to make his father proud?  
  
One look in the mirror above the sink told him all he needed to know.  
  
So he leant over the toilet, carefully put two fingers down his throat, and started pushing . . .  
  
Suddenly, he started gagging, and quickly pulled his fingers out of his mouth, and coughed a bit.  
  
//Pull yourself together, you pussy. All you have to do is make yourself sick. How hard can it be?//  
  
Draco breathed in, a determined look on his face, and quickly just shoved two fingers down his throat. He started gagging again, but he still kept his fingers in place, pushing them deeper down his throat.  
  
He felt bile rise up in his throat, but still pushed his fingers down further.  
  
He suddenly felt even more bile in his throat, so he quickly removed his fingers from his mouth, and, to his somewhat twisted delight, started throwing up into the toilet.  
  
When he was done he looked into the mirror.  
  
His face was a terrible grey colour, his throat was sore, his eyes were watery, and he generally felt incredibly ill, but . . . he couldn't help thinking that if he did this everyday, then he'd eventually become thin - as thin as his father wanted him to be.  
  
With that thought in mind, Draco gave his reflection a small smile, and started to clean up.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The next week, everyday after he'd finished his training, Draco would skip dinner, make it look as if the house elves had brought him some food to eat up in his room, and go to his bathroom and make himself sick.  
  
Day after day he got thinner and thinner, while Lucius kept insisting that Draco was still as fat as always, which made him all the more determined to carry on his regime so that he could prove to his father that he could get thin in time to see the Dark Lord.  
  
Not that Draco wanted to meet him, but he didn't really have a choice, did he?  
  
The next day he and his father were to be going to Diagon Alley to get all his school stuff early this year. Then he'd only have a week before meeting Voldemort. How on earth was he going to get out of that one?  
  
It didn't matter anyway. All that mattered now was getting thin.  
  
So, for the second time that day, Draco leaned over the toilet in his bathroom, and started making himself sick.  
  
~ TBC ~ 


	4. He Saw

A/N: Yay! Glad that you peeps are likin' the story! And because I am just so kind (yeah right), I've posted this chapter after about . . . um . . . how many was it again? Err . . . about three weeks. Oh well. Oh yeah, and I'm sorry for the crappy description of my ickle Draco making himself sick in the last chapter - I just didn't know how to write it, since I don't exactly know what to do.  
  
Anyway, I might not be able to post more to this story soon, because in early June I have an entire four days of exams! *groan* And I have to revise for them. : ( So, I'm sorry for that, but hopefully I'll be back soon-ish!  
  
Oh, and here are the more personal thank-yous . . .  
  
Maria: Here's the next chapter! And, yes, Lucius IS a bastard. *scowls at Lucius* Please keep reviewing!  
  
Chibi-Crysti: Thanks for the review! And, as I said before, I might not be able to post the next chapter up soon . . .  
  
Yoink Daydurfurits: Thanx for the review, YD! (I can call you YD, can't I, YD?) Yeah, I know that ickle Dray isn't fat . . . but he doesn't. Meh heh heh . . . Oh, and please don't kill Lucius just yet - I need him for later on!  
  
Celeste: Hey there! Yeah, I like Draco-angst stories too, so I'm glad that you chose to review my one, out of all the other good fics out there . . . Demanding and adoring public, eh? *chuckles* Thanx for that. Wish that the lurkers would review, though . . .  
  
Slytherin-ferret: Hee hee hee! Yeah, I know that Draco ain't fat - but he thinks he is. Thanx for the review(s)! And here is the next chapter! (but don't expect the next one to come out any time soon!)  
  
OK then, that concludes the thank-yous. And now . . . on with the story!  
  
~~~~~~~~ There Is No Such Thing As Perfection ~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter 3 - He Saw  
  
Draco entered Borgin and Burkes, looking around nervously. His father had requested him to buy some Dark Arts books, while Lucius himself went to do something else.  
  
What that something else was, Draco didn't know, for when he asked his father where exactly he was going, Lucius just said, "That's none of your business, boy. Now get your fat arse over to Borgin and Burkes, if you can get there without falling over your fat feet, that is."  
  
The 'fat' insults came more and more frequently to Draco; some stung more than others. And after each one, he'd usually make himself sick in the toilet, so that one day his father would miraculously announce that Draco wasn't fat anymore, that he was thin!  
  
Draco snorted softly to himself. That wouldn't happen any time soon - after all, he was still fat. He just had to keep dieting and making himself sick until he got thin. Suddenly, his stomach growled loudly.  
  
//Oh come on, you pussy. Can't you handle going three days without food? You're just pathetic, Draco. Pathetic.//  
  
So, again, Draco denied himself the opportunity of food - he couldn't afford to get even fatter than he already was. That would make him even more imperfect in his father's eyes.  
  
As Draco walked past shelves of skulls and other hideous things, he saw Harry Potter.  
  
Harry Potter.  
  
In Knockturn Alley.  
  
In Borgin and Burkes.  
  
Currently looking at what seemed to be a Dark Arts book.  
  
"Potter," Draco said. It came out less spiteful than was intended.  
  
Harry turned around and looked at Draco with scornful eyes.  
  
"Malfoy," he spat, looking positively disgusted at seeing Draco a whole five weeks before school started.  
  
"What . . . what are you doing here?" Draco asked, trying, and failing, to sneer.  
  
What was wrong with him? He was supposed to be being horrible to Potter. But, after all, his father was nowhere near here, and there weren't any witnesses (apart from Mr Borgin, but he was at the back of the shop, apparently), who could inform Lucius of Draco behaving civilly when conversing with Harry Potter, so there was really no point, was there?  
  
//Apart from the fact that I hate him because he's so bloody perfect.//  
  
"What makes you think that it's any of your business, Malfoy?" Harry snapped at the fair-haired boy.  
  
//Wow. He looks really hot today.//  
  
Draco just shrugged.  
  
"Just wondering what the world's resident Golden Boy is doing hanging about in one of the worst Dark Arts shops," he said calmly.  
  
"Just looking for some books on how to fight Voldemort. Dumbledore sent me, if you must know," Harry retorted. "And what about you? Getting some skulls and books on 'How To Be The Most Loyal Servant To The Dark Lord' for daddy dearest?" the black-haired boy snapped.  
  
//OK, not a good thing to use those perfectly shaped lips for. Shouldn't say Voldie's name. It sounds wrong coming from that mouth. And also what the FUCKING HELL AM I THINKING?!?//  
  
"Cat got your tongue, Malfoy?" Harry asked, looking smug.  
  
Draco shook his head a bit, snapping out of his reverie.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
"Nothing. Just that you're not denying that you're father is a Death Eater who kisses Voldemort's arse," he said smoothly.  
  
"You shouldn't be saying his name. It sounds alien coming out of your mouth," Draco said without thinking.  
  
Harry frowned a bit, looking puzzled.  
  
"What? What did you say, Malfoy?" he asked, trying to keep a mean edge to his voice, but failing, and only managing to sound curious.  
  
"Uh . . . nothing, Potter, nothing, don't worry," Draco said, looking around. "So, erm . . . how was your holiday?" the fair-haired boy asked, averting his attention back to Harry.  
  
"It was . . . OK. Not that you care," Harry said slowly.  
  
"You're right, I don't," Draco said quickly.  
  
"What, you want to tell me about --your-- summer, Malfoy? About how you became a Death Eater, and went off the serve the Dark-fucking-Lord, along with your spineless Dark-Lord-fucking father?" Harry spat out, eyes narrowing.  
  
Draco was thrown for words.  
  
//So this is what Harry thinks I've been doing? Well, it's not that far from the truth.//  
  
Suddenly, a hand smacked down on Draco's shoulder, squeezing painfully, not that Draco showed it.  
  
"Draco. Son. There you are," Lucius Malfoy said stiffly.  
  
Draco swallowed slightly and turned around.  
  
"Father," he stated.  
  
Lucius's eyes narrowed as they fell onto the green-eyed boy standing opposite his son. Draco turned around to face Harry again.  
  
"Potter. We meet again," the man said tersely, hand squeezing Draco's shoulder even harder.  
  
//There're gonna be bruises there tomorrow.//  
  
"Mr Malfoy. The pleasure is all --yours--, I'm sure," Harry said, quite insolently, in Lucius's opinion.  
  
"Didn't anyone ever tell you to respect your elders?" Lucius hissed, leaning over to Harry, his grip on Draco's shoulder becoming almost unbearable.  
  
"I refuse to respect anyone who's in league with the thing that murdered my parents!" Harry hissed back.  
  
Lucius's eyes flashed, and Draco turned around just in time to see his father reach into his pocket to take get his wand out, so he quickly twisted out of his father's grasp on his shoulder, yelling, "No!", making Lucius (and Harry) stare.  
  
Well, in Lucius's case, glare.  
  
"What. Did. You. Say. To. Me. Boy?" Lucius hissed, looking so dangerous that Draco could have sworn that if it were not for the fact that Harry was here, and that they were in a rather public place, his father would have 'Crucio'-ed him without a second thought.  
  
Draco swallowed slightly.  
  
"I . . . I said . . . that Harry needs to go, doesn't he, don't you, Harry?" he said quickly, grabbing Harry by the arm, and practically pushing him towards the exit.  
  
"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry snapped, pulling his arm out of Draco's hand and looking bad-tempered. Without a backwards glance he practically stalked out of the shop.  
  
At least, that's what Draco thought. Once outside, Harry immediately pressed his face against the window to see how Lucius would react to Draco just - Merlin forbid - --saving-- him.  
  
"What the hell was that all about, boy?" Lucius hissed loudly, making Draco wince.  
  
"I . . . I . . .I'm sorry, I . . ." he couldn't really think of a plausible explanation. And just then he realised that he had called him Harry.  
  
//Idiot.//  
  
"Well?" Lucius demanded, looking down at his son.  
  
"Is there a problem here?" Mr Borgin's oily voice sounded just above Draco's ear, startling him.  
  
"No . . . not at all, Borgin. Now, if you don't mind, I think that you have some stacking to do," Lucius pointed out, as if daring him to disagree. Mr Borgin merely nodded slightly, and went to the back of the room again, although Draco could see his head poking out to try and see what Lucius and Draco where doing.  
  
The elder Malfoy put a hand on Draco's shoulder, and dragged him over to the window, away from Mr Borgin's prying eyes (and ears).  
  
Harry immediately ducked his head down, but made sure that he could still see over the window ledge, without being seen himself.  
  
"Why the fucking hell did you do that you insolent little shit? Rescuing Potter like a knight in shining-fucking-armour!" Lucius hissed. Draco knew that his father only used profanity when he was at home, or where no one else could hear him.  
  
"I . . . I . . . I didn't think-" Draco started.  
  
"That much is obvious," his father interrupted him.  
  
Suddenly, he curled his hand in a vice-like grip around Draco's throat, lifting the boy up off the ground.  
  
"If you ever do that again . . ." Lucius hissed, squeezing his son's throat even tighter, "you will still be unconscious in the next millennium."  
  
Draco was finding it hard to breathe. He could feel himself turning pink.  
  
Funny . . . his father had never tried strangling him before.  
  
The grip around Draco's throat got tighter, and he could feel his eyes slowly rolling to the back of his head, when Lucius suddenly dropped him back onto the ground.  
  
"Get up you worthless piece of filth!" his father spat at him. Draco got up slowly, coughing slightly. "Stand up straight, boy. If you think you can manage it without your stomach dragging you down, that is," Lucius said coldly, glaring at his son. Draco started rubbing his throat, wincing slightly as his hands went over the skin that his father had just bruised.  
  
The long-haired man rolled his eyes as his son's weakness, and walked deeper into the shop, calling for Mr Borgin.  
  
//I'm sorry father. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disobey you.//  
  
Draco's eyes fell to the ground as he rubbed his throat, realising that he had shamed his father by trying to 'save' Harry. He didn't mean to do it - but he just couldn't let his father curse Harry there and then, could he? Draco tried to tell himself that it had nothing to do with the fact that Harry was a very attractive boy, and that he cared for him and that-  
  
Draco suddenly looked up. He was being watched. He could feel it. He slowly turned his head towards the window . . . and his silver-grey eyes met Harry Potter's shocked emerald-green ones.  
  
Draco felt like he couldn't breathe for one second. One thought kept going through his mind.  
  
//He saw. Hesawhesawhesawhesawhesawhesawhesawhesawhesawhesawhesawhesawhesawhesaw . . .//  
  
After a few seconds of staring into the pale blonde's eyes, Harry turned around . . . and ran.  
  
~ TBC ~ 


	5. Don't Tell Anyone

A/N: OK, peeps, this chapter will be JUST Harry/Draco. Aren't I nice? *lots of loud coughs from random people around the world* Yeah, well . . . I actually typed this chapter up when I was supposed to be revising! Yes, I know, naughty me! Oh yes, and ack ack ack ack ack! Translation: sorry for the shortness of this chapter but, like I said before, I was supposed to be revising! But anyway, thank you SO much for all the lovely reviews for the last chapter! Sorry that I don't have any time to give out the personal thank-yous, but I was revising! *yawn*  
  
Please keep reviewing! They really mean a lot to me!  
  
~~~~~~~~ There Is No Such Thing As Perfection ~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter 4 - Don't Tell Anyone  
  
"I . . . I'm just gonna go look at some books, Father!" Draco yelled hurriedly, vaguely hearing his father mutter a, "Whatever," somewhere in the background as he ran out of Borgin and Burkes, and after Harry.  
  
After he had run out of Knockturn Alley, and into Diagon Alley, Draco stopped for a few seconds, clutching his side and breathing heavily, before continuing to chase after the Boy Who Lived, who was, surprisingly, a rather fast runner.  
  
After a few more seconds of running, Draco stopped to catch his breath. But suddenly he saw the light reflect off a familiar pair of glasses, just outside Flourish and Blotts.  
  
So (ignoring his lack of breath and the stitch in his side), he ran towards Harry and grabbed him on the shoulder. Harry turned around quickly, making as if to run, but Draco pulled his shoulder a bit and spoke before Harry could run away again.  
  
"Potter, wh-what you saw," he panted. "It . . . it wasn't . . . you can't tell anyone!"  
  
"What, your father strangling the life out of the you is a regular occurrence and you don't want anyone to know, is that it?" Harry asked sharply.  
  
"No. No, no, not at all," Draco said, a little too quickly for Harry's liking.  
  
Harry noticed that the teenager in front of him was still panting, and holding his side.  
  
"Are you . . . OK?" he asked carefully. "I mean, not like I care, but did you get so tired just after running a few yards after me?" Harry asked, a confused expression settling on his face.  
  
Draco just shrugged, averting his eyes.  
  
"I have a breathing problem," he said, looking down at the ground. He looked up at Harry. "Look, Potter, in Borgin and Burkes . . . don't tell anyone . . . please," the blonde-haired boy said quietly, a pleading tone in his voice.  
  
Noticing the almost desperate look in Draco's eyes, Harry nodded slowly.  
  
"Even if I did, it's not like anyone would care," the black-haired boy said coldly, making Draco look down at the ground immediately.  
  
//Damn you. Why do you have to only state the truth?//  
  
Seeing Draco looking so . . . so . . . guilty, being the only word to describe it, Harry softened.  
  
"Sorry, Malfoy. I just . . . it's kinda hard to forget all the stuff you did and said to me and my friends," he said.  
  
Draco nodded.  
  
"I know. I know that I'm asking too much of you to keep a secret, no matter how stupid it is. But, please, promise . . . promise you won't tell anyone what you saw," the pleading in Draco's grey eyes was almost blinding.  
  
Harry nodded numbly.  
  
"I mean, not that it's ever happened before," Draco added quickly.  
  
"Of course. Don't worry, Malfoy. I won't tell anyone," Harry said, sighing slightly.  
  
Draco nodded, focused his gaze on the floor, and then seemed to fall into deep thought, eyebrows furrowing slightly.  
  
"That's the Golden Boy we all know and love. Always so helpful and Saint- like," Draco suddenly said, with what sounded to Harry like bitterness, which quickly got him angry again.  
  
"Yeah, well in my opinion, that's better than being an evil spoilt little bastard who would --deserve-- the torture of even Cruciatus for a few HOURS!" Harry yelled, a bit too loudly, causing quite a few people to look at him, and stormed off.  
  
Draco then looked up, his soft grey eyes following Harry storm off through the crowds of Diagon Alley.  
  
"I didn't mean it like that," he said softly, to himself. "I meant . . . why can't --I-- be like that?" he asked no one, and, as always, no one answered him back.  
  
Draco sighed and started to make his way back to Borgin and Burkes, where Lucius would probably be waiting.  
  
As he was walking, he suddenly caught sight of his reflection in the window, and frowned.  
  
Manky fair-blonde hair that looked like it hadn't been washed for weeks, eyes too cold and grey, lips too thin, cheekbones too high, face too fat . . .  
  
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Draco muttered to himself, before running into the nearest loo and throwing up.  
  
~ TBC ~ 


End file.
